Blowing In The Wind
by gabz33
Summary: The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind.


_**How many roads must a man walk down**_

_**Before they call him a man?**_

Aragorn trod on, oblivious to the hobbit's complaints. His weary feet pounded the earth, as his mind burned with all the injustices that have been dealt to him in life.

He corrected himself. _Not injustices,_ he reminded himself in a stern tone, _Tests of worthiness._

Aragorn sighed to himself. How many years, how many wars, how many trials, must he pass in order for Lord Elrond to give him Arwen's hand in marriage – willingly?

He snorted quietly. _This tirade sounds awfully familiar,_ he thought sardonically. _Does 'Beren and Lùthien' ring a bell?_

_**How many seas must a white dove sail**_

_**Before she sleeps in the sand?**_

Vorönwë looked westward, and sighed heavily. His ship had sunk, and he was now standing on the shores of the Isle of Balar, looking towards the bright light – that was veiled in cloud and wind.

He was the sole survivor from the 7 ships that had set out from Nevrast towards Valinor, to ask for the pardon of the Valar for the Noldordrim, and aid them in their attempt to thwart Morgoth and his evil minions.

Somehow, he had knew that the mission was doomed to failure; if the Valar would have wanted them to be pardoned, they would have done so, without needing to sail to the Undying Lands and losing 7 ships' worth of Elves.

His brow creased in thought. Then why did he set out?

_**How many times must the cannonballs fly**_

_**Before they're forever banned?**_

Daugion stood by the walls of the 1st level, warily watching the swarms of Orcs and catapults that were slowly making their way towards the walls. The big trolls were roaring as they pulled the cumbersome machines, and the Orcs were bellowing with war-cries and bloodlust.

He longingly thought of his betrothed – Alassiel – who was waiting for him in the 5th level. He remembered, with a twinge of intense love, how she had looked into his eyes and made him PROMISE that he would come back alive and unspoiled.

"Ala, I cannot promise anything," he said gently, holding her hands in his and looking into her emerald green eyes, which were sparkling with unshed tears.

"I know," she breathed, and swallowed a sob, "I know you cannot promise me that you will survive." She then looked straight into his hazel eyes, and spoke firmly. "But promise me that you try your best." She smiled tremulously. "That is the least you can do."

Daugion was rosen out of his thoughts when Gandalf appeared on their level, shouting out orders. Daugion took a snatched peek over the wall, and immediately hid himself behind the strong stones, wishing he had never done so.

He heard terrifying-sounding creaks from below and behind him, and the crazed roars of the Orcs as they egged the trolls on. The trolls, in turn, bellowed, and lifted large rocks into the waiting catapult.

He sighed lightly and closed his eyes.

_Forgive me, Alassiel._

_My love._

When he opened his eyes, the hardness of his gaze was only matched by the hardness of the boulder, as it crashed into him and several other Gondorian knights, killing them instantly.

_**The answer, my friend**_

_**Is blowing in the wind**_

_**The answer is blowing in the wind**_

_**How many years must a mountain exist**_

_**Before it is washed to the sea?**_

As Tar-Mìriel scrambled up the steps of Meneltarma, she was crying. Tears were sliding down her cheeks, but her wails were lost in the wind.

Her dresses dragged down at her legs, and she impatiently ripped the skirts and flung them down the side of the mountain, watching the rich, white fabric fall down into the churning rapids that were now Avallònë, or more well-known as Nùmenor.

She continued her laborious journey up the mountain, not knowing what, exactly, would she do when she arrived at the summit. The churning waters swirled around her, and as she glanced down at the formerly rich land, the water started reaching her ankles. It was climbing towards her knees, and with horror, she saw that it now reached her waist.

"ERU ILÙVATAR!" she finally screamed out, with the last vestiges of her strength nearly gone. "SAVE ME!"

And with those last words, her body was dragged under the raging current, and Tar-Mìriel's voice was heard no more.

_**How many years can some people exist**_

_**Before they're allowed to be free?**_

_Smoke…fire…dark…peril…must…warn…danger…_

Irrational and disconnected thoughts drifted through Théoden's mind. Dimly, he saw the doors to his hall open, and 4 shapes started making their way towards the throne slowly. One of them, supported buy the tallest form and carrying what seemed to be a beacon of light, filled Théoden's mind with fear – and wariness.

As the people came closer to the throne, a voice cut through the fogginess of his mind, like a saber cuts through flesh.

"My Lord," hissed the voice, "Gandalf the Grey is coming."

Théoden's eyes remained milky white, but inside, he was rejoicing. _Someone who can release me from the clutches of this monster inside me is always welcome,_ he thought to himself, in the small section of his mind that had not been taken over – yet.

In the instant that that thought had ceased, an evil laugh rose in his mind. _I do not think so, Théoden King,_ the voice replied coldly and smugly.

As the older figure with the beacon of light in his hands ascended the steps towards the throne, Théoden blanked out.

When he came around, a familiar maiden was holding him in her arms. Her eyes shimmered with tears of joy as he uttered the first words that came into his head.

"I need a beer."

_(CUT! Bernard, you know that isn't what you're supposed to say. –sigh- Let's do it again, from the top, and remember YOUR ORIGINAL LINES._

_Lights…camera…ACTION!)_

-snap-

When he came around, a familiar maiden was holding him in her arms. Her eyes shimmered with tears of joy as he uttered the first words that came into his head.

"I know your face."

She smiled, and let out a soft chuckle.

"Èowyn."

_**How many times can a man turn his head**_

_**And pretend that he just doesn't see?**_

Denethor was well over the fine line that separated 'rational' and 'insane'. He was deep in the throes of his madness, and nothing – save Boromir coming back to life – could drag him out now.

As he uttered mumblings and nonsense, he strode purposefully down the hallway of the House of Kings, with 6 guards carrying his son on a platform of wood, with another 6 guards carrying bundles of wood and flasks of oil.

As he made his way to the platform, he smiled grimly to himself. The small Halfling, Peregrin Took, had tried and stop him.

Denethor scowled, an unholy light in his eyes.

Nothing can stop him now.

The doors to the hall burst open, and Gandalf appeared on Shadowfax, with that impetuous little hobbit behind him, looking scared to death.

On second thought…

Without thinking twice, Denethor snatched the torch out of one of the guard's surprised hands, and cast it onto the pile of wood and oil; it kindled instantly, and grew with speed.

Gandalf grabbed a spear from one of the guards at the door, and charged at Denethor. He struck Denethor in the midriff, and he flew off the pyre with a cry.

As Pippin jumped into the fire and rolled Faramir out, Denethor raised. With eyes slit like a demon, he screeched, "YOU WILL NOT TAKE MY SON FROM ME!"

As Denethor jumped on Pippin, Gandalf reared Shadowfax, and the mighty horse kicked him in the face – and straight into the now-raging bonfire.

Denethor rose, and looked around him in fright. Right then, his gaze locked on the face of his younger son – whose eyes were opening slowly.

"Faramir?" he asked, hope evident in his voice.

And as Faramir's eyes opened wider, Denethor began to feel the effects of the fire on his flesh. Jumping off the table, he ran wailing, out of the doors, and falling to his death.

His last thought were, _At least I got to see Faramir before I died._

_As I deserve._

_**The answer, my friend**_

_**Is blowing in the wind**_

_**The answer is blowing in the wind**_

_**How many times must a man look up**_

_**Before he can see the sky?**_

Aragorn mounted Brego with a set expression. The horse was pawing nervously, but stilled as soon as Aragorn whispered to him soothingly in Sindarin.

"Courage, Brego," he muttered to him.

He moved Brego into position, behind Théoden's horse, in the main entrance. All the horses were pawing nervously. The king was in the front, and his face was set with what looked like acceptance – of whatever fate may be his, if it will be good or not.

As all the remaining knights arranged themselves, Théoden drew his sword.

"FORTH EÒRLINGAS!" he bellowed, and the responding roar from his faithful resounded in the cavernous halls.

The small knot of riders charged forwards, and down the passage that leaded to the gates of Helm's Deep, stampeding forwards and killing any Uruk-hai in their path.

Aragorn glanced up for a moment, and then froze. On the ledge to his left, Gandalf was standing with Shadowfax on the top of the hill, with 3,000 Rohirrim behind him.

Èomer raised his sword, and bellowed, "TO THE KING!"

The Rohirrim roared in response and charged down the hill.

As Aragorn looked on, he sighed. _It shouldn't have come to this,_ he mused sadly.

_Evil should not be allowed to endure._

_**How many ears must one man have**_

_**Before he can hear people cry?**_

Èowyn rushed the women and children into the caves.

"Hurry, quick," she said to them, as frightened mothers and scared children scurried into the safety of the cavernous caves.

When she made sure that all the women and children were safely ensconced in the caves, she closed the heavy doors, and the soldiers outside barricaded them.

She leaned against the doors with a sigh, and slid down. With her head between her knees, she started sobbing quietly to herself.

"Why?" she asked herself. "Why couldn't I be out there with the men, fighting?"

Instinctively, she knew the answer, but that didn't mean she liked it.

_Because I am a woman._

She snorted derisively through her tears. _So what? Half of the men out there are probably much more afraid of the Uruk-hai than I am._

She sighed. _I must accept it. This is my destiny._

As soon as that thought floated through her mind, Aragorn's words came back to her. _"You are a Shieldmaiden of Rohan. I do not believe that that will be your fate."_

"M'lady?" came a hesitant voice from above her. She raised her head, and saw a young girl of 12 standing before her.

"Yes?"

"Why are you crying?"

Èowyn smiled, and wiped the tears from her face. "It does not matter, dear," she said. "What is your name?" she asked the small girl.

"My full name is Ninniachel, but my mother calls me Ninni," the girl said.

Èowyn grinned. "Do you know that your name is in Elvish?"

Ninni's eyes widened, and she shook her head mutely.

Èowyn's grin faded, and she pulled herself to her feet. "Come, Ninni," she said, offering her hand to the girl, "we must tend to those who are more frightened than myself and you."

Ninni smiled, and swung Èowyn's hand as they made their way to where the babies were.

_**How many deaths will it take 'till he knows**_

_**That too many people have died?**_

"GIMLI, LOOK OUT!"

Gimli stepped aside, just in time to avoid the blast that blew part of the wall into oblivion.

"Well, that was lucky," he muttered to himself, than swung his axe into the closest Uruk-hai's head, killing him instantly.

Aragorn was now leading a charge with the remaining elves. His look was set in steel, as were his eyes.

"CHARGE!" he yelled, and the elves rushed after him into the throngs of Uruk-hai that were rushing through the big gap in the once-unbreakable wall.

The elves, clad in shining mail, clashed with the Uruk-hai and immediately began attacking. As sword clashed with spear, and innocent men lost their lives to protect their allies, Haldir set onto the Uruk-hai with a furious expression, whirling around and cutting down 2 Uruks with one blow, as his double-bladed sword glinted and cut through the air with no sound.

As he was cutting off the heads of 3 more Uruks (they were standing in a row, the brainless, dim-witted thick puppets), he heard a yell. "PULL BACK! PULL BACK!"

It was King Théoden, calling for them to pull back into the caves. Haldir swung around, amazed that he would suggest retreating and giving up, when an Uruk came up behind him and swung his axe into his back.

Haldir's breath caught, and he sank to his knees. _The pain…the unbearable pain…_

Just as he was about to try and give a last blow, another Uruk came up behind him and flung his axe into his side.

Haldir took a raggedy breath, and turned around slowly. The pain was now white-hot; it had reached the stage where it was so painful and excruciating that it had turned – pleasant, somehow.

He stared at the piles upon piles of soldiers – Uruks, men and Elves alike – that lay against the wall. Dimly, he thought he could hear singing, and a bright white light was gathering speed as it approached him. (A/N: SO CLICHÈ, I KNOW! BUT I COULDN'T HELP IT!)

His last thought, as Aragorn rushed over to him and caught him before he keeled over, was _It is a strange fate that we should suffer so much fear and doubt, lose so many lives over so small a thing. _

_Such a little thing._

_**The answer, my friend**_

_**Is blowing in the wind**_

_**The answer is blowing in the wind**_

Frodo clambered up the rocks, while Sam held steadfastly onto his hand. With a last immense effort, Sam heaved Frodo up and onto the platform, which was starting to shake.

"Mr. Frodo," he panted, "we have to get out of here!"

Frodo just lay there, his eyes closed and his face filled with pain. "Leave without me, Sam," he said weakly.

"NO!" Sam roared, and heaved Frodo onto his back and ran out of Mount Doom, with the boiling lava close on his heels. He looked around frantically, looking for an escape, and found it in an outcropping of rock.

He scrambled to the outcrop, and dumped himself and Frodo onto it. He lay there, heaving, while Frodo lay quite still.

Sam was about to nudge Frodo, when a voice came from him – a voice that Sam had not heard since the last time they were together in the Green Dragon. Frodo's voice was _amused._

"Sam," he said conversationally, as if he was chatting with a friend over a mug of ale, "I never knew you could roar."

Sam coughed, embarrassed. "Yes, well…"

Frodo chuckled weakly, and Sam nearly hugged him. Frodo was laughing again!

"Sam," he sighed, sitting up, "dear Sam. You're full of surprises." He then sighed deeply, and added, "It's a shame no one else will be able to find that out."

Sam looked at Frodo incredulously. "What do you mean, Mr. Frodo?"

Frodo looked him in the eyes, and as well as elation and exhaustion, he also saw defeat.

"Sam, we destroyed the Ring. We succeeded in doing what we set out to do." Frodo sighed heavily. "But we won't be making it back home."

Sam straightened, and looked at Frodo. "I know. It's all wrong. By rights we shouldn't even be here. But we are. It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn't. They kept going. Because they were holding on to something."

Frodo smiled tiredly as the lava flowed around them. "What are we holding onto, Sam?"

"That there's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo... and it's worth fighting for."

Frodo snorted. "Another surprise," he said softly, "you've gone poetic."

Sam rubbed his head. "Yes, well, when I wasn't thinking about the many ways to kill Gollum, I was doing something with this noggin." He tapped his head.

And then lay back and promptly fell asleep.

Frodo sighed (again), and laid his head next to Sam's. "I'm glad you're here with me, Samwise Gamgee," he said softly, and then fell asleep.

Gandalf was searching for 2 hobbits. Precisely where they were or how they looked now, he did not know.

The eagle that he was perched on suddenly let out a cry, and Gandalf looked down sharply.

Upon an outcropping of rocks, he could barely discern the two small prone figures from the black and dusty surface of the stone they were laying on. He nudged the eagle he was on, and he sped towards the outcropping.

---

Frodo felt the wind on his face, and opened his eyes slowly. He felt as if he was floating through the air…floating…riding the wind…

He closed his eyes again.

_Is this how it feels, to die?_

All thoughts ceased then, as they seemed to enter a great light.

The wind whispered to him, caressing him, comforting him…

Telling him what he already knew.

_No matter how much shadow there is, a small pinpoint of light will banish it all._

_This world is worth fighting for._

_Worth everything._


End file.
